Suddenly, I’m furious . . . like a raging bull, and I drop my head and fumble through my bag. I need to get away from him. Where are my f*****g keys? “Fine,” I snap. I find my keys and turn toward the door.
“I miss you.”
I stop and close my eyes.
“I can’t . . .” He pauses. “I can’t move on until I know we’re okay.”
I frown and turn back toward him.
His face is pained, and he appears nervous.
Our eyes are locked, mine filled with tears . . . his with regret. He turns back and looks at his car, which I didn’t notice parked in the dark. “I brought you something.”
He nearly runs to the car and then retrieves a huge bouquet of yellow roses and walks back and passes them to me.
I stare at him in confusion. “Yellow roses?”
He smiles softly. “Yellow roses are supposed to symbolize friends
